


Quit milling around the yard and come inside.

by tenderjock



Series: Dear Forgiveness (i saved a plate for you) [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, Gen, cw for canon typical violence/character death and medical scenes wrt recovery from a brain tumor, did i invent andy/nile's mom? anyway, i'm a lil bit drunk posting this so assume that any mistakes are because of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderjock/pseuds/tenderjock
Summary: “It’s nice that you have visitors,” the nurse said, smiling down at Amelia.or: Amelia Freeman, supermom.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Nile Freeman's Mother, Nile Freeman & Nile Freeman's Mother, Old Guard - team
Series: Dear Forgiveness (i saved a plate for you) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110149
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	Quit milling around the yard and come inside.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you ty ty to @hauntedjaeger (saellys) / @hauntedfalcon on tumblr for betaing this. some background: this takes place in an au where booker was let off with an apology (thus explaining his presence in this fic) and nile's mom, amelia freeman, was diagnosed with a brain tumor, causing nile to visit her in the hospital (thus explaining, like, the entire premise of this fic). title from litany in which certain things are crossed out by siken.

“It’s nice that you have visitors,” the nurse said, smiling down at Amelia. Her hands were capable and strong, everything Amelia was not right now. She hummed to herself as she took notes on a little clipboard.

Amelia’s eyes slipped closed. She was tired all the time now. Her head hurt, too. Then something pricked in the back of her mind. “Visitors?” she said. She hadn’t had a real visitor today since Duke left this morning. “My son, you mean. He has to visit; I gave birth to him.”

The nurse chuckled. “No,” she said, “I meant the young lady and her friend. They didn’t sign in, but I saw them leaving. It was nice of them to stop by.”

Amelia’s eyes snapped open. The heartbeat monitor went crazy. The nurse clicked her tongue and rested a gentle hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “Now, honey,” she said. “It’s alright, just breathe. Is it the pain? We can do something about that.”

She shook her head. It made the throbbing worse, so she immediately stopped. “You saw them?” she said, instead. “My daughter and that man?”  _ The dead _ , she wanted to say,  _ the dead and buried _ .

“Of course,” the nurse said.  _ Harper, _ her nametag read. She was younger than the other nurse. She was about Nile’s age, or the age Nile would be if –

Amelia squeezed her eyes shut. It was so hard to think with the pain, and the weakness, and the dizziness. Nurse Harper had seen her daughter. With that man – her  _ friend _ . The big one with the French accent. She could still feel Nile’s hands in hers, solid enough to be real.

“Oh, Lord,” Amelia said, mostly to herself. “What have you gotten yourself into, baby?”

: :

Amelia gritted her teeth and forced her shaking hands to grasp the rail in front of her. One step. Two steps. She was going to beat this thing if it killed her, goddamnit.

Maybe not the best choice of words. The physical therapist they had assigned her, a nice middle-aged man named Kim, spotted her as she walked from one end of the room to the other and back again.

“Very good,” Kim said. Amelia sat down on the edge of her bed before she fell down. “You’re getting your strength back up. Your dizziness is entirely gone?”

“Yeah,” Amelia said, and pressed her cool fingers to her forehead. The tumor had done a number on basic functions of life like ‘standing up’ and ‘moving.’ Everyone – the doctors, the nurses, Duke – had assured her that she was getting better at an impressive rate. It was hard to believe them when she needed a handrail to cross her bedroom.

At least she wasn’t stuck in that awful hospital anymore, and no one was sending her flowers. Flowers were for dead people; Amelia Freeman still had some life in her yet.

As though he could hear her thoughts, Kim said, serious, “Mrs. Freeman, I know it doesn’t seem like progress, but your recovery is one of the fastest I’ve seen.”

“Well,” Amelia said, dry. “I suppose that’s something.”

She waited until Kim was gone to call her contact.  _ Her contact, _ God, like something out of a movie. But one of her husband’s old friends worked on a base in Landstuhl that Nile had been assigned to, after  _ something _ happened in Afghanistan, when she was reported killed in action six months ago.

“Hi, Amelia,” Julieta said. “It’s good to hear from you.” She stumbled over her words for a second, then cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you, Jules,” Amelia said. No one was there to see her being weak, so she slumped back against the pillows on her bed. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but –”

“No, no,” Julieta said. There was only static on the other line, then she sighed. “Can I be frank with you?”

“You know you can.”

Julieta said, voice low and fervent, “When you first called, I thought it was grief, and pain. I thought that maybe – fuck, I’m sorry, but I thought it was the tumor talking. But the more I looked into what happened to Nile, the more I wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Amelia said, heart in her throat. To hear someone else say the things she had wondered herself was –

Well, it was as gratifying as it was terrifying. She was choked up with hope, no matter how slim it was.

Jules’s voice dropped even lower. “Nile was reported killed in action in Afghanistan,” she said. “ _ After _ she was pronounced dead, she was transferred to a facility with a hospital. She then made a full recovery, and the doctor on the scene – I’ve talked to her. She says that Nile didn’t have a scratch on her when she arrived.”

“So, there was a cover-up,” Amelia said. Shit. Talk about something straight out of a movie. “That’s what you’re saying?”

“Not exactly,” Jules said. “After that, Nile was transferred to Germany, for testing. Only she never made it. Then, a week later – she’s declared killed in action. Whoever cooked her books did a stellar job of it, I’ve got to say, but they can’t stop people from talking.”

Amelia slowly, laboriously sat up. Her hands shook, and she wasn’t sure whether it was exhaustion or anticipation. “Jules,” she said. “Tell me you know where my daughter is now.”

“I might,” Jules said. “But you have to swear to me that you’ll be careful.”

“ _ Fuck _ careful,” Amelia snapped. Her hands were still shaking. “This is my daughter we’re talking about.”

Jules sighed again, rasping down the line. “Okay,” she said. “Someone saw a woman and a man matching the description you gave leave a small aircraft and get into a car in Toronto. I tracked the car to a house in Montreal. I can’t promise that they’ll be there, but it’s a place to start.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said, gripping the phone so hard that her phone case squeaked. “Thank you, Jules. I don’t know how I can ever thank you enough.”

“Find Nile,” Jules said. “Find out what happened to her. That’s enough for me.”

Amelia hung up, heart pounding. Outside her little bubble of quiet, the front door closed, and she heard Duke’s voice carry to her room: “Mom? You done with PT for the day?”

She wiped at her eyes, which were leaking a little, and called back, “Yes, I’m done.”

Standing was a process, one that she could just barely manage on her own nowadays. Hand pressed against the wall, she walked up to the open door of her room.

“Duke, baby,” she said. He stuck his head out the kitchen, frowned at the serious lilt to her voice. “I need to talk with you about something.”

: :

It took nearly five weeks, but Amelia and Duke made it to the address that Jules had given her. It was probably better that it happened now, when she could mostly function on her own, without a nurse or physical therapist helping her. They made their way to a snug little cabin outside of Montreal. Flurries of snow fell gently around them, muffling the world. Amelia stepped out of the rental car and approached the cabin. Duke’s footsteps crunched in the freshly fallen snow behind her.

Amelia gathered herself at the door. Her hands, clenched into fists at her sides, did not shake. She had to be strong, for this, whatever the hell  _ this _ was. Duke placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Mom,” he said. His mouth opened and closed several times. Eventually, he dropped his hand and shrugged, a little helplessly.

“Are you ready?” Amelia asked. Her left hand reached into her purse, gripping the pistol she had hidden there. Duke nodded and stood behind her as she rang the doorbell, twice.

The third time, there was movement behind the stained-glass window set into the big oak door. A deep voice said something, and then waited for a response. The door swung open, and Amelia held her breath for –

It was the dead man, the one who had come to the hospital with Nile. He looked from her face, steely with resolve, to the hand in her purse, to Duke behind her.

“Shit,” the dead man said. “One moment, please.” He shut the door in her face. On the other side, Amelia heard him yell, “ _ Nile!” _

Well. That answered one question, at least.

Amelia and Duke stood out on that front porch for a good long while, until the door was yanked open. It was the dead man again. “Ah, ma’am,” he said, awkwardly gallant. “Would you like to come in, or do you prefer to do this in public?” ‘Public’ is a bit of a stretch, she thought, considering the closest house is a ten-minute drive from this place.

“I would like to come in,” Amelia said. She arched a brow. Duke shifted, kicking absentmindedly at some snow accumulated on the steps outside.

“Ah,” the dead man said. “Alright. They’re coming in!” The last bit was directed inside the house, over his shoulder.

Amelia stepped inside, Duke right behind her. Her grip on the pistol tightened, but she didn’t pull it out.

Inside, the cabin was cozy and plush, expensive carpets lining the floor and paintings crowding out the walls, opulent to the point of tastelessness. Amelia stopped in the entryway and looked around, trying to get a measure of what was going on here.

Coming from a room off of the hallway, Amelia heard her baby girl’s voice, indistinct but unmistakable. Heart pounding, she shoved past the dead man and into a kitchen, where three strangers and Nile gathered around an enormous and intricately carved wooden table with eight matching chairs.

“Mom?” Nile said. “Duke? What are you – you shouldn’t be here.”

Amelia stared at her and said, mouth dry, “If anyone shouldn’t be here, it’s  _ you _ , Nile Freeman.”

One of the strangers, a striking woman with dark hair and darker under-eye circles stepped around the table, hands raised placatingly. “Mrs. Freeman,” she said, tone carefully neutral, “I think that we could all benefit from a little bit of explanation.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” Amelia snapped, “But I was talking to my daughter.”

The woman’s eyebrows shot up and she opened her mouth to respond, but Nile threw her a look that stopped her. After a moment, she dipped her head and stood back.

“Nile,” Duke said from behind her. Amelia’s knuckles ached from how hard she held her little pistol. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Nile said, looking at her feet. Amelia found her voice again.

“You can start by explaining why a Marine told me you were dead six months ago,” she said, “And why you’re standing right here, right now. And who these people are, and why you’re in Montreal, of all places, instead of  _ home _ , with us.”

“Mom –” Nile said, then cut herself off, glancing beseechingly around at the others. The two men sitting at the table didn’t quite meet her eyes; the dead man, standing between Amelia and the only door to the room, scuffed at the back of his neck, looking at the ground. The woman gazed back steadily at her.

Nile rallied: “It’s complicated, Mom,” she said. “And a lot of it you won’t believe.”

Amelia’s chin came up. “Try me.”

Duke stepped up beside her. “You’re alive, Nile,” he said, voice barely trembling. “Anything else is just window dressing.”

And so Nile sat down, and Amelia sat down next to her, and Nile told her the story of losing her first life and gaining immortality in the process. One of the two men – the white one – got up and started pouring out mugs of hot chocolate. The dead man spiked his with a generous shot of whiskey, and offered some from his flask to Duke, who shook his head.

“What do you mean, exactly,” Amelia said slowly, “By ‘immortal _ ’. _ ”

“She means this,” the woman said, and in one clean motion drew a Bowie knife out of the top of her boot and thrust it into the dead man’s chest. Amelia gasped, stunned; Duke shot to his feet. The dead man spluttered, for a moment, then yanked the blade free of his ribcage.

“Fuck, Andy,” he said. “I liked this shirt.”

Amelia looked around the room, at all the people who are not phased in the slightest by this behavior, and back at the dead man, who had a bloody hole in his shirt and smooth, unblemished skin underneath it.

“Oh,” Amelia said. “You meant  _ immortal _ .” The bearded man coughed out a dry laugh, and smiled when she looked at him.

“Yeah,” Nile said, quiet. “I meant immortal.”

“Well,” Amelia said, frantically grasping for the thread of this conversation. “Are you going to introduce us to your friends?”

It was the right thing to say. Immediately, the mood of the room lightened. Nile even managed a smile, the first smile Amelia had seen on her face, in person, in over a year. Something warm and soft lit up in Amelia’s chest.

“Everyone, this is my mother, and my brother Duke. This is Booker,” Nile said, pointing at the dead man. “This is Nicky and Joe –” it was a little unclear from her gesture who was Nicky and who was Joe “– and this is Andy.” The woman with the dark circles under her eyes waved, just a little bit.

Those all sounded like fake names, to be entirely honest, but Amelia didn’t mention that.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Duke said. Amelia bit back a sigh. It was good to know that she raised a good, polite boy, even if he was clearly lying through his teeth.

They stayed for dinner. Either-Nicky-Or-Joe had made some sort of stew that was burbling away on the stove, filling the air with the rich scents of beef and white wine and barley. The three men, Duke, and Nile had all gone outside, ostensibly to check on the car, which Amelia had left running when they arrived, although they mostly seemed to be playing around in the fresh snow.

Amelia watched her daughter –  _ her daughter! Alive! _ – throw a snowball directly into Booker’s face. Next to her, also looking out the narrow kitchen window, Andy stretched. The ceiling in this little cabin was low enough that her fingers brushed against the rafter.

“You raised a warrior,” Andy said. Amelia nodded without looking away from the snow battle outside. Booker was now flat on his back, sputtering as Nile shoved snow down his shirt. Nicky-And-Joe were holding hands and shouting encouragement alternately to Nile and Booker. Duke was laughing, a young, carefree laugh that Amelia hadn’t heard for – God, for months.

“Yeah,” Amelia said. “I did.”

“She’s a good kid,” Andy continued. “It’s been hard on her, keeping this from you.”

“And why,” Amelia said, turning a bit to face Andy, “Did she think it was necessary to keep this from us in the first place?”

Andy’s mouth twisted, but she met Amelia’s gaze steadily. Amelia had to respect her for that, for not looking away when it would have been the easier option. “Not everyone is like you,” she said. “Some of us have faced fear, hatred – not just from our families, but from everyone who finds out about our immortality. It wasn’t safe, not for Nile, not for any of us.”

Amelia digested that for a long moment. Then she said, “So, was it you?”

“Hmm?” Andy said. She had her fingers interlaced and was swinging them back and up behind her back, stretching out her shoulders.

“Were you the one who faced hatred from your family?” Amelia asked. She watched Andy’s face. The other woman’s eyes were clear and bright, her mouth somber. Her eyes flickered down to Amelia’s lips and then back up again.

“No,” Andy said. “I was worshipped as a god. Jury’s still out as to whether that was worse, in the long run.”

“Worshipped?” Amelia repeated, and then: “Wait. How old  _ are _ you?”

Andy laughed. “Old enough,” she said, smile curling into the corner of her mouth. That didn’t really answer any of the questions Amelia had. Something in Andy’s expression warned her against pushing any further.

Amelia, however, never made a habit of listening to that little voice that told her when to stop. She wanted her answers, goddamnit, and she would get them if she had to pry them out of Andy with a fucking crowbar.

“How old?” Amelia said again. Andy’s half-smile turns into a full, shark-like grin. She shakes her head, like she’s shaking a thought away, and meets Amelia’s gaze again.

“I don’t remember,” Andy said, honest in a way that Amelia, with her sharp questions and sharper looks maybe hasn’t earned, yet. “But I’m older than the others by quite a bit.”

“And how old are the others?”

Andy rolled her neck out. “Nicky and Joe,” and were they always  _ Nicky-And-Joe? _ Did these men exist without the other? “They first died during the Crusades. The first Crusade, actually.”

“The Crusades,” Amelia said, dumbstruck. “Well. They’ve aged well.”

Andy laughed. “Booker died fighting with Napoleon, in Russia.” And there: Amelia hadn’t imagined it. Andy’s gaze flicked down to her lips, a subtle kind of longing, then back up to her eyes.

Amelia blinked at her, speechless. She’d congratulate Andy, if she had the frame of mind to do so; very few things made Amelia Freeman speechless. She wasn’t sure what stumped her the most: the flirting, or the actual words that Andy said.

“There’s actually a funny story about that –” Andy said, and then the front door slammed open and Nile, Duke, and Booker stumbled inside, laughing. Nicky-And-Joe followed, arms intertwined.

Amelia tore her gaze away from Andy’s mouth. Nicky-And/Or-Joe went to the vast pot that was sitting on the stove and gave it a stir. Apparently satisfied with his results, he began ladling up portions for everyone. Nile pulled a loaf of bread that was toasting out of the oven and started slicing it up.

Amelia found herself ushered in front of everyone else, Duke right behind her, to receive her bowl of stew. She took it, rather numbly, and sat down at the table. Nile sat beside her. Andy took the seat on the far side of Duke, and Booker sat next to Nile. Nicky-And-Joe settled in across from her. There was a moment of silence as everyone dug into the food.

Amelia looked up from her bowl, halfway empty. She had found in the last few months that she became vaguely nauseous if she ate too much, and also if she ate too little. Dunking the end bit of her bread in the stew, she took a last bite and glanced around the table.

Booker was swigging down the final drops of his wine. Nile was tearing her bread into little bits, a little habit from her childhood that made Amelia’s heart ache. Andy met her gaze, steadily, when Amelia caught her eye. Amelia refused to look away first. After a moment, Andy’s mouth twitched, and she glanced away.

Somehow, she and Duke were coerced into staying the night. (It wasn’t really much of a coercion. Nicky-And/Or-Joe, the one with the beard and the tasteful jewelry, said,  _ it’s snowing too hard to drive, isn’t it, _ and Amelia, about to disagree, saw the naked hope on Nile’s face and said instead,  _ yes, you’re right. _ )

There was another round of hot cocoa before bed. Nicky-And-Joe turned in first, eyes and hands full of each other. Duke followed, yawning. About half an hour later, Nile and Booker stumbled off their separate ways, laughing about some joke that the old ladies were too old for.

Andy sipped her cocoa and smiled at Amelia. It wasn’t a very nice smile. Amelia found herself responding to it, nevertheless.

“Hey,” Andy said, coming up to stand behind Amelia. Her right hand trailed over Amelia’s right shoulder. Amelia took another sip of her cocoa, then let her head fall back. Andy was still smiling that smile.

“Hey,” Amelia said back, and then Andy’s lips were on hers and –

Well. Amelia was sure that she wasn’t to be blamed for losing track of what happened after that.

: :

The morning eventually came, as mornings do.

The snow had stopped at some point in the night. Amelia got dressed, not missing the way Andy’s eyes followed her as she adjusted her bra and slipped on her socks. She wished she had brought an overnight bag, but back when she was planning this whole situation, she hadn’t thought that she would be spending the night.

Amelia was the first one awake. Well – other than Andy, she supposed, although Andy just murmured  _ good morning _ before rolling over and going back to sleep. She was always a morning person, a trait which she passed down onto both of her children. In the kitchen, Amelia fidgeted with the espresso machine until it poured her a shot, and raided the fridge.

By the time Nile stumbled into the kitchen, Amelia’s frying bacon and stirring a big bowl of scrambled eggs. Nile rubbed at her eyes and said, voice rough with sleep, “Joe doesn’t eat pork. Do you want me to do something?”

“I’ll make the eggs separate from the bacon grease, then,” Amelia said. Then, flipping a slice of bacon over with her tongs, she continued, “Cut up some fruit, baby.” Nile grabbed a pear and an apple and a banana and started chopping.

Joe – Amelia was pretty sure it was Joe; the beardy one – arrived next, Duke at his heels. Joe attempted to help, but Amelia ushered him out of the kitchen area and put Duke to work making rye toast.

Booker staggered into the kitchen, a cartoonishly hopeful look on his face. “Bacon?” he asked.

“Bacon,” Amelia confirmed, tonging the strips out of the pan. “Although I heard one of you doesn’t eat pork?” Joe, behind her at the kitchen table, cleared his throat.

“That would be me, Mrs. Freeman,” he said. Amelia finished moving the bacon to the waiting paper towel and found another pan to fry up the eggs in.

“Baby, hand me the butter,” Amelia said. Both Nile and Duke handed her two different sticks of butter. “How much butter is there in this house?” she wondered out loud, taking both and then consolidating them onto one plate. She cut a couple of tablespoons off of the remains of the smaller stick and threw it in the pan.

“That’s Nicky,” Joe said, going a little misty-eyed. “He really likes butter.” He and Booker were rassling with the espresso machine. It kept shooting out boiling water and no coffee. They were still fucking around with it when Andy and Nicky walked in, both yawning.

Amelia glanced at Andy. Andy winked. Amelia looked away again, schoolgirl butterflies rising in her stomach. Fuck. As though she didn’t have enough to deal with.

Nicky muttered something that was either a curse or a good morning. Amelia’s Italian was a little rusty. He joined Booker and Joe in the throng around the espresso machine. Andy took the bowl of fruit from Nile and set it on the kitchen table. The back of her hand brushed Amelia’s shoulder as she did so.

Duke said,  _ sotto voce _ , “How many idiots does it take to make an espresso?” Amelia thwacked him upside the head for making a crack at their hosts’ expense, but she found her lips twitching. Andy laughed, quiet but unmistakable. Nile piled the toast up on a plate and put it with the fruit on the table.

Booker swore, in French, and Amelia would have thwacked him on the head, too, if she were within reach of him. Instead, she dumped the eggs into the hot pan and scrambled like her life depended on it.

Here’s the thing: cooking was a constant. When her husband was killed in action, she made enough muffins to feed the entire apartment building. When Duke came out, she whipped up souffles to eat, savoring the flavored hot steam while they discussed hormones and name changes and all the other logistics. When Nile was reported dead, Amelia made gumbo, a big pot of it, too much for one small family to eat.

Cooking was a constant. When Amelia Freeman was scared, or anxious, or mad, she always eventually turned to the kitchen. Nile rested a hand on her arm, and Amelia said, past the lump in her throat, “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, Mom,” Nile said, and then Amelia had to take the eggs off the heat and squeeze her daughter until her still-weak arms shook from the effort.

When she pulled away, wiping her eyes, everyone else in the room was pretending not to notice them. Heart full to bursting, Amelia served up the eggs and sat down with everyone.

“This looks incredible, Mrs. Freeman,” Joe said.

“Wonderful, really,” Nicky said. “And it’s refreshing to be able to sleep in. Thank you.”

Booker, who was already halfway done with his eggs, made an agreeing sound. Nile stole a piece of toast off of his plate and nearly got stabbed through the back of the hand with a steak knife for her efforts. She chewed it thoroughly, a bright and slightly smug smile on her beautiful face.

Because that was the crux of it, wasn’t it; her baby girl was still alive to smile and hug and steal toast. Amelia took a bite of pear and glanced around the table. Andy met her gaze and her lips moved into a pleased shape, just a little bit.

“Thank you, Mrs. Freeman,” Andy said. Amelia tilted her head in acknowledgement and –

The kitchen window shattered, bullets ripping through the air. Amelia immediately caught Duke’s shoulder from where he was sitting next to her and yanked him down to the floor, under the table.

Andy’s boots, across from her at the table, shifted as she ducked behind her heavy wooden chair for cover. Booker was on one knee, gun drawn, shoulder-to-shoulder with Nile, who also had a gun out. Amelia swallows hard. She’s not an idiot; she  _ was _ a nurse in the South Side of Chicago for almost thirty years, and also was the wife of one Marine and the mother of another. She had known that everyone in this room other than Duke, herself included, was packing heat.

Still, it’s one thing to know that, and another to see her daughter coolly shoot at someone. Amelia tore her gaze away from Nile and turned to Duke, who was huddled at her side, wide-eyed.

“Come on,” Joe said, and waved the two of them out the back door. She scrambled up, Duke’s hand clenched in hers, and followed him out the door. Nicky laid down covering fire, and they managed to get out to Amelia’s rental car before Joe caught a round to the chest and crumpled.

Amelia didn’t hesitate. She took the pistol out of her purse, which she was still gripping in her non-Duke hand out of sheer habit, and pulled the two of them onto the far side of the car. Bullets thudded into the chassis. She probably wouldn’t be able to return it in this state, she thought, a little hysterical.

Joe got to his feet, reloaded, and ran back to the cabin. Amelia pressed herself down onto the ground, peering out between the wheels at the ensuing firefight. Nicky was shooting out the kitchen window with a rifle, calmly lining up each of his shots before he made them. Nile and Booker were at the back kitchen exit, using the heavy wooden door as cover.

There appeared to be twelve baddies total, heavily armed and very violent. They had come in two cars – and Amelia couldn’t help but picture how all twelve of them fit into those two, not exceedingly roomy, cars. She choked down the wholly inappropriate laughter at the mental image it provided.

Just then, as the bad guys reloaded, Nile and Booker broke into a run for the rental car. They managed to cross about twenty of the thirty feet from the cabin to the car without trouble. Then, just a few steps from relative safety, Nile’s head snapped back in a spray of blood. Duke, watching from under the car with Amelia, made a noise like the air was punched out of him.

Amelia stared at the – the corpse of her only daughter. Nile was missing half of her face, wet red meat where her mouth and nose should be. Booker had caught her under the arms and dragged her over to where Amelia and Duke were crouched, behind the car. More bullets ricocheted around them, but Amelia, Duke’s hand in hers, only had eyes for Nile.

“C’mon, Nile,” Booker said. He was holding a pistol in one hand; the other came to the back of Nile’s neck, lifting her head a little. “Now would be an extraordinarily bad time to not come back.”

Like she heard him, Nile spluttered back to life, wound stitching itself closed, slowly at first, then gradually faster. Amelia felt sick to her stomach, watching it, but not watching wasn’t an option. Her tongue wriggled as it healed, teeth shooting out of her gums, and then she was her baby Nile again, beautiful even gore-stained.

Nile first reached up to Booker, tapping her fingertips against his chin, eyes fluttering open. He shifted, still remaining behind the parked car, but moving so Nile could crawl to her knees. She looked from Amelia to Duke and back to Amelia. There was a splatter of brain on her collar.

“Mom,” she said, and Amelia found herself moving out to touch her cheeks, her nose, her perfect dark eyes, just like her father’s. Duke made a noise, like he was trying not to cry.

“Oh, baby,” Amelia said, tugging Nile and Duke into her arms. She’s not sure how long they stayed like that, Nile’s head tucked against her collarbone. The gunfire faded, then stopped, briefly. Booker cleared his throat.

“I need to, ah,” he said. “I need to cover Joe. Nile, you good?”

Nile sniffed, then pulled out of Amelia’s embrace. “Yeah, Book,” she said, and took the pistol when he handed it to her. “Go.” He nodded, and darted out their cursory shelter. The gunfire immediately resumed, and Amelia heard Joe yelling something in Arabic. Nile pressed Amelia and Duke back further into the shadow of the car.

“Nile,” Duke said. “What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into?”

“Language,” Amelia said, flicking her son on the ear. Then: “But I find myself having to agree, baby. Are these the kind of people you want to associate with?”

“You don’t understand,” Nile said. She checked the cartridge and nodded to herself when she saw it was full. “These people – I need to be with them. They’re family, now.”

“We’re your family.”

“Yeah,” Nile said, eyes intense. “You are. You always will be. But the rest of them – they need me. They love me.”

Amelia blinked back tears. Was this what they meant by empty-nest syndrome? Since when did her little girl grow up?

“Baby,” she said, and found herself without words. Nile looked at her, and then looked away. Duke’s fingernails were cutting into Amelia’s hand. No one said anything for a long moment.

Nile broke the silence by popping her head up over the hood of the car to scope out the situation.

“Listen,” Nile said, tucking the gun into her thigh holster, competence in every line of her body. Amelia cleared her throat and pushed all the messy, ugly feeling aside. She swung her purse strap over her shoulder and turned her gaze on her daughter.

“I’m listening,” Amelia said, and it even came out almost as wry as she intended. Duke peeled his hand out from hers and looked at Nile, too.

“I love you,” Nile said. “I love you so, so much. But I need you to be somewhere that’s not here.”

“I’d leave right away, but I’m not sure this car will start,” Amelia said, “Considering the numerous bullet holes in it.”

_ “Mom _ ,” Nile said, a hint of a whine in her voice. Amelia could hear Booker and Nicky’s voices, and realized that the gunfire has been silent for a few minutes now. She joined Nile in poking her head over the car to see what, exactly, was going on.

Booker and Joe were hauling – bodies, those are  _ dead bodies _ , and if she hadn’t raised two children, diapers to deployment, Amelia probably would have thrown up. As it was, she felt a little light-headed, and kept a hand on Duke’s shoulder to keep him from looking as well. Nicky was stripping the bodies of their weaponry, and Andy was next to him, speaking softly.

As the three Freemans approached, Andy’s voice, still pitched low, became understandable. “They followed us,” she was saying. “Do we think it’s connected?”

“Looks like that trip to Delhi is coming sooner than expected,” Nicky said, and Andy snorted before turning to them, steely look in her eyes.

Andy had an axe, of all things, and she pointed at Amelia and Duke with it. “You can take the car that’s in the garage,” she said. “Get as many miles in between you and us as you can.”

“I don’t understand,” Amelia said.

“Yes,” Andy said, “Yes, you do.”

She was right, damn her. But instead of acknowledging her, Amelia turned to Nile.

“Baby,” she said. “Do you have to do this?”

Nile just nodded. Duke put his hand back in Amelia’s and squeezed. Amelia squeezed back.

“Oh, alright,” Amelia said, because she knew that look in Nile’s eye. Some battles just can’t be fought, she thought to herself, and this was shaping up to be one of them. “Do I get a hug, at least?”

Nile immediately threw herself forward, wrapped her arms around Amelia and Duke like she was never going to let go. Over her shoulder, Amelia watched the other four pretending like they weren’t watching. Amelia closed her eyes and did her level best to memorize the feel of her baby girl in her arms.

A year and also a second later, Nile pulled out of the hug. Her eyes were shining. Amelia sniffed, a little, then tugged the strap of her purse higher onto her shoulder.

“C’mon, baby,” Amelia said to Duke. Turning to Andy: “You said there was a car we could take?”

They got into the car, an old Toyota, and Amelia carefully started down the bumpy road out of that place. Nicky had finished stripping the bodies and Booker was dousing the pile of limbs with gasoline. As Amelia pulled out of the little garage, the air filled with the thick scent of burning meat. Duke gagged, just a little.

“If you’re going to throw up, do it out the window,” Amelia said. Despite her words, she felt her own stomach turn over.

All in all, it was something of a relief to get on the plane back to Chicago. There was a hard knot just below her sternum that kept unclenching every single time she thought back to her daughter’s face, the way she moved with such purpose. Amelia would never say anything to discourage Nile from following her path – but the fact of the matter was, being a Marine was not where she should be.

And now, she couldn’t help but feel that Nile had found herself, finally. These people seemed violent bordering on unhinged, but she saw the way that they looked after each other, read between the lines when Andy spoke about her past. And Amelia had always hoped, after her husband passed, that her children would outlive her. It seemed like a blessing to know that Nile would go on living long after Amelia was dead.

Amelia sighed. Duke, sat next to her, glanced up from his book of sudokus.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, and put his hand over her. “We got her back. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah, baby,” Amelia said, closing her eyes. “We got her back.”

: :

MEANWHILE, IN NEW DELHI …

"You slept with my mother?!" Nile demanded. Booker, seated at the table beside Andy, snorted laughter. Andy shot Nile a look, mouth twitching.

"If it's any consolation," Andy said, "She's an excellent lay."

" _ Andy _ ," Nile said, scandalized. Booker was laughing so hard that he had to put his head between his knees and breathe deep. Nile swatted at his shoulder, which just made him dissolve into further laughter.

“No, really,” Andy said, propping her feet on the table. Nile forced down the urge to swat her feet back down. “I like her. We bonded.” Then her smile turned shark-like. “If you know what I mean.”

_ “Andy!” _

**Author's Note:**

> again a big thanks to @hauntedfalcon!! i'm on tumblr, also as @tenderjock, if you want to talk :)


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